Waiting game

When all this nonsense started there seemed to be a definite tempo to it all with the endgame being surgery. After the false start, and the need to go back to additional treatment in order to ideally get the tumor into a resectable state it felt like a huge pause button was hit, and I've been in a circling pattern waiting for another window of opportunity.

I was hoping to have this all done in 2012, and now it's going to extend into 2013. All I want for Christmas is to get this fucking tumor cut out of me. I am the kind of person that after having made a decision finds it very difficult to sit and wait on the execution of actions needed to actualize the resolution. Right now, I'm finding myself faced with a situation where I have limited control over the situation, and instead am sharing it with physicians and the cellular activity of a rather troublesome anti-me. If only I could Fight Club my tumor out of me I would. I hate this waiting.

Most of my adult life has been spent steadily focused on attaining goals that would be beneficial for me and my family, and in most cases I've been relatively and fortunately successful. The pace of the current state of affairs is certainly not one that I'm used to, and I'm completely out of my comfort zone. I'm not used to not going to work. I've been so acclimated to getting up when it's dark, cruising into work as the day breaks, settling into a long day of of romancing a keyboard with my fingers, while juggling concerns and expectations and coming up with solutions, and finally heading back home as the daylight ebbs from the skyline.

Now my days are punctuated with doctor's appointments and treatments, feeling crappy on some days, and long bouts of waiting in between. Again, it's these periods that I like the least. The positive take on all this is that I get to see more of my kids than I usually have in the past: I get to take them to school in the mornings, and pick them up afterwards, make dinner with them, and get them ready for bed. It certainly makes for a more interesting conversation with my youngest when I pick him up, and he feels the vascular port on my chest. "What's that bumpy thing, Daddy?" he asks. I sometimes get a little choked up, and caught off guard. "The doctors put it there for Daddy to get special medicine." I reply. I don't really feel like I've answered the question very well sometimes.

I'm looking forward to the coming holidays, and am looking forward to meeting my new nephew, who should be coming in the next few days. I'm really looking forward to a good CT scan, so I can hear the Stanford Tumor Board say that I'm good to go for surgery. Maybe I'll find a healthy pancreas pulsating in my stocking. Joy!